


Thanatos

by toujours_nigel



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/pseuds/toujours_nigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Does Hephaistion himself think this?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanatos

The small scarlet figure jumps in, death-dealing, and is brought out and carried away, and the men fight, and he fights, and if they bring death to the Mallians, and dishonour, who dares blame them? They are bereft, for their king is gone, and their hero, and their heart, and they wreak destruction like a wilful, bereaved child who avenges the loss of his friend by breaking his toys. They have been hurt and seek, in blind anger, to hurt all near them.

Alexander is dead, or grievously hurt, and what is a child’s life (death), to that great loss?

 

***

 

Alexander lives, still, and the soldiers stop, as a fire does when there is nought left to burn. But he may die, yet, held in that boy’s arms and with Peukestas and Leonnatos at his side, and the lover in him grieves even as the soldier rebels, for he will not lay his beloved in Thanatos’ arms, nor hear his King’s last command.

Yet Alexander lives, still, and he sends a messenger back, reporting the massacre. So many little deaths, for one dear life, and will Thanatos and Hades not spare him? For Alexander lives, still, and may die, yet.

 

***

 

Akhillos is dead, perhaps, and Patroklos sets his face in stone and speaks to none, save of matters of need. And of those he speaks but little.

He is no Patroklos, and there are rivals he must quell. Ptolemy will stand by him, yet he trusts no-one.

The king is dead, perhaps, and the generals strive to keep peace and quell the rumours, for how can he be dead, their beloved Alexander, and what are they to do, without him, here in this savage land.

His beloved is dead, perhaps, in another man’s arms, and he allows himself no tears.

 

***

 

The King comes to them, sailing down the river like a very Ra, and he stands at the quay, flanked by Ptolemy and Krateros and, for the space of a shared glance, allows himself to be merely Hephaistion.

The King comes to them, and the soldiers surround him, in wild joy and disregard and drown him in their love and hinder him, and Alexander, who should not have come, who, confides Leonnatos, is not fit to sit up, smiles at them and greets them and lets them love him.

The King comes to them, and his generals go to them.

 

***

 

The others leave, and with them goes the King and leaves in place his beloved, and he stays and they are solely Alexander and Hephaistion. And he kisses the wan face, and touches the frail body—almost taken from him, and he not at his side, in battle or in healing—and uncovers the half-healed wound and bathes it in helpless tears.

And Alexander smiles, and stills his shaking hands, and kisses away his tears, and listens as he, heart-struck and heart-whole, attempts a strict reprimand, and rebukes his needless bravado and lets him enfold him—_gently_—in his arms.


End file.
